


Attach, Detach, Reattach

by InkFlavored



Category: The Property of Hate
Genre: Angst, Character Study, hero is mentioned near the end, past death, referenced child death, sad tv man strikes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFlavored/pseuds/InkFlavored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It would be so much easier if he could just keep his distance, but no, no of course he couldn’t even do that. It was only a matter of time before they – his Heroes – started to matter ." // character study of rgb because i can't resist Pain And Suffering</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attach, Detach, Reattach

RGB had given himself one job. One _bloody_ job. And that job was a constant presence in the back of his mind, a mantra he had to keep on repeat lest he forget: _don’t get attached, don’t get attached, don’t get attached. Don’t. Get. Attached._

And, like so many other things, he had gone and failed that particular mission.

It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to! It would be so much easier if he could just keep his distance, but no, no of course he couldn’t even do _that_. It was only a matter of time before they – his Heroes – started to _matter_ – to him, that is. Of course they mattered in general, they were supposed to save the world, after all. And they were all ridiculous for accepting his offer of being a Hero, the job was incredibly dangerous in a world that they hadn’t even known _existed_. Not that he’d tell them anything up front (it was because they wouldn’t understand, of course. What child would understand the gravity of such a situation?). Despite how very in danger he and the Hero would be in, he would always say as little as possible. He didn’t want to ruin the child, he didn’t want to strip away all of the innocence and curiosity. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. But then again, nothing was supposed to be like this.  

It didn’t take very long, depending on the Hero, but he would always have a “breaking point,” as it were. A limit he’d hit, known only to himself, and damn it all, he’d get attached. And then it would hurt even more when they inevitably died. A part of him never stopped blaming himself for that part. A different part of him tried not to think about that too much, tried to distance himself from that. Wouldn’t want to get upset. Wouldn’t want to make _other_ people upset. Because, not too surprisingly, RGB wasn’t very comfortable when other people were upset.

This wasn’t exactly an uncommon issue – it’s not like people _enjoy_ seeing others in distress (well, most people) – but it was always an “experience” for him. He didn’t know what to _do_ when other people were upset – he didn’t know what to do when _he_ was upset! More often than not he’d be left standing awkwardly next to the upset person in question, not knowing if talking would make things better or worse, or what he would even say if he were to speak, should he change the subject? Should he tell a joke? Would that seem tasteless? Unkind? Should he offer help, or would that be patronizing? He really wasn’t one for physical contact, but maybe a pat on the shoulder wouldn’t go amiss? Was that too formal? Usually, he would end up doing nothing, gloved fingers clenching and unclenching, rubbing the back of his television head. It was in those moments he really wished his current emotions didn’t dribble out the front of his screen.

He was even worse with his Heroes. The fact that he’d brought them to the place they were currently upset about never helped, and every time they demanded he take them home, he wished there was something he could do. The reason his least favorite part of the journey was explaining to the Heroes – the _children_ – that they were no more than a title, they were not “themselves” anymore, that they couldn’t ever go home, was not because it was exhausting to tell the same thing to so many of them. It was because of their faces afterword.

Bright eyes going dim, big smiles falling, excited hands going still. Tears welling up in eyes that should be happy, broken sobs from mouths that should be laughing, desperate pleas of “I want to go home, please take me home,” hiccupped into the side of his leg, or even worse, the angry, defiant cries of “you’re the worst, I hate you,” shouted up at his screen (he knew he deserved it, he’s the one who brought them here).

It was those moments when he entertained the idea of giving up on his misadventure and letting the world end in peace.

He’d set this whole “saving the world” business on himself, after all. No one asked him to – no one was asking for a hero, either – but there are some things that people don’t say that others hear anyway. And RGB heard the world calling for a hero, someone to save them. People were desperate and wouldn’t allow themselves the hope of a world being saved, but they wanted a hero all the same. He’d taken one look around, seeing that nobody else was going to do it, and decided to get this world a hero himself. For the world. Although maybe he’d been hearing what his own voice wouldn’t say. He didn’t like to let go of the old.

Unfortunately, getting a new Hero was exactly like that. Letting go. An attempt to rip himself free of the previous Hero again and again and again.

On every new Hero, he’d try and keep himself another level of distance away, another wall, another body behind him serving as another reason to keep them at arm’s length (and then some). Despite all his efforts, he’d get attached, stuck on his current Hero. Firmly and fixedly attached. And then they’d go and get themselves killed (they got themselves killed, he had to tell himself that. He didn’t kill them by bringing them here, they ran head first into danger before he could point it out. He also had to tell himself that he can’t possibly point out every possible thing, he wasn’t omnipresent. It wasn’t his fault. Was it?) and he’d find himself torn apart from the inside out, all that ridiculous, stupid affection for his dead Hero burning a hole in his non-existent chest, until he was left dry with nothing.

But it was so hard to detach himself to that dead Hero. After their deaths (too soon after their deaths, but he had to save the world, he had to find someone who could do it), he’d go looking for another one, and he’d find himself comparing the candidates to their predecessor. This one was a bit shorter than the last Hero; not a bad thing, but how were they supposed to reach for hand holds if there was a rock to climb? This one a little older, also not bad, but they might not dream very much, and how were they supposed to stay safe without trees? This one has brighter hair, they’ll stand out like a sore thumb, though it is pretty. A bit, a little, almost, not _quite_ Hero material.

Correction: not his previous Hero.

Eventually he’d find a replacement, trying to make them the exact opposite of his last Hero, so that nothing they did would remind him of them, and he couldn’t _possibly_ be upset.

And then he’d reattach. He’d end up latching onto his new Hero, despite all his efforts.

Attach, detach, reattach. A cruel cycle, a habit, a routine, a mantra almost as constant as _don’t get attached_.

 

◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

 

“But all flowers must die, to complete their purpose.”

The Hero’s face fell at his explanation of the rain of petals. “Oh,” she said, melancholy dripping off her words like the colors on his screen. “That’s sad.”

RGB said nothing in response. He could almost hear her shoulders sag. Wilting, like the flowers, their petals drifting down on the ocean breeze above them. It was difficult to see her upset, this Hero, especially when she was so loud and talkative and happy. Being quiet and sad really didn’t suit her. His hands would twitch the slightest bit when he would see her frown, a small urge to do something, reach out to her, try and help –

_Don’t. Don’t do it, dammit._

He was beginning to care, he was becoming attached again. He knew what that felt like. And when he saw the signs of caring, he squashed them immediately, because if he didn’t, that care would leap out and latch itself onto whichever Hero he had in his possession ( _not_ in his care), linking him with invisible handcuffs. And those handcuffs would chafe and scratch at the wrists he didn’t have, leaving burn marks that seared him completely when they died, leaving scars that never faded. Inevitably, the Hero always died, leaving him right back at the beginning, except everything was worse. And the Heroes died so much more quickly now. It was a wonder this one hadn’t died at the very beginning with the run in at the lake. She should have died _twice_ in the Fields of Hesitation. Thrice if you count her _horrible_ plan that had actually worked.

But she hadn’t died. And RGB had tried _so hard_ to pretend he wasn’t relieved, because that meant he cared, and he just _couldn’t_ let himself care, not again. He tried to convince himself he was happy she was alive because he wouldn’t have to get another Hero so soon, because he wouldn’t have to go through the effort of finding another one. He didn’t want to care, because the world just kept getting more and more dangerous, and the more he cared meant the worse it would hurt when she died.

She was so young to die, they were all so young. Young and bright and blooming, and he’d led them to their deaths (he’d given up on not blaming himself). They’d bloomed, and he’d let them wilt by plucking them from their gardens, their petals drying up and turning brown, dropping off and floating to the ground. He thought of his current Hero, blooming.

He hoped so dearly that she was his last Hero, because he wasn’t sure if he could do this anymore.

 


End file.
